Hermione, A History
by callernumber16onz100
Summary: Princess Hermione had her life planned since birth. Of course, all that can just go flush itself down the royal toilet now that a rogue wizard is attempting to overthrow her rule, her fiance is trying to kill her, & her garden boy is the Boy Who Lived.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Hermione, A History

Chapter One: Introduction

–

Hermione. Hermione Jane. Hermione Jane Granger. _Princess_ Hermione Jane Granger. That's my full and formal title, if you must know.

I'm not what you would call your "picture perfect princess," but I'm as close as they've got, being, quite literally, the _only_ one they've got. My sister, who died before I was born, was taken by some terrible disease.

I was born in a small cottage in back gardens of the palace, where my caretaker, Minerva McGonagall, lives. When I was born, I was deemed respectable looking enough, though I was 'below the average pretty expectation' for princesses. It was decided that I, Hermione Jane Granger, was to be the next queen. Since my birth, my life has been consumed in princess lessons, ranging from family to politics to how to sew. Every month had been another trip to another wealthy and influential family to find my suitor.

At age five, I came face to face with my fiancé, Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, a wealthy man, and quite influential over the parliament. When I met Draco, I didn't think much. Sure, he was handsome for a five-year old, but I hadn't thought that this boy was to be my husband.

Ever since I met Draco, he came every week as often as possible to play. We had fun, and I thought Draco and I were to be friends forever. There were times though, when he'd make a rude comment, or say words I hadn't understood back then, like "mudblood" and "pureblood," and other words that seemed to have no meaning. When he made a joke, I'd laugh, but I'd have no clue what he was talking about. Times like that confused me greatly of Draco Malfoy, but never once did I mention those words to Minerva, nor did I ask anyone what they meant. By the way Draco had said them, I had assumed they were not princess-like words.

It was when I was eight years old that my parents, the king and queen, broke the news to me. The news being that I was to marry Draco. It came as a shock, it did. Draco and I had been walking through the rose bushes, when Lucia, a maid of mine, came in looking rather grave, and directed the two of us to the throne room, where my parents and Draco's parents sat.

They pulled us toward them, and my mother spoke. "Hermione, you like Draco, don't you?" she asked.

"Well, yes," I responded, not sure what the was talking about. Of course I had liked Draco, he was the only kid I'd ever known, aside from the workers.

She smiled at me. "That's excellent, darling." The glanced over at my father, then over at Mr. Malfoy, who I had overlooked. He was standing in the corner, leaning against the wall, smirking.

"And Draco," he said, "you _adore_ Hermione, do you not?"

"Of course," Draco said. It took me years to realize that this whole conversation sounded quite rehearsed.

My mother gave Mr. Malfoy a look, as if to silence him.

"Well, Hermione, dear, how would you like to marry Draco?" she asked me tentatively.

My father huffed. "It's not a matter of whether or not she wants to marry the boy, Meredith," my father said. "She's marrying the kid, whether or not she wants to. It's her duty as the next queen."

My mother glared at my father, obviously wondering how she ended up with someone as insensitive as him. Because, the truth is, my father is an benumbed, selfish, egotistical prick. Not that I don't love my father, but it's the honest truth. My mother, on the other hand, is one of the nicest, most sensitive, generous people I had ever met. I always wondered why she chose my father.

She sighed. "Hermione, I know this is a lot of information, but, well, dear, it is your responsibility."

I nodded. "Of course, Mum."

–

So, as of then, I was engaged to Draco Malfoy. He stopped coming to the palace as often as he used to. On day, when I was ten, he did come, though.

He and I were sitting in the library, but there was a wall between us. I fiddled around nervously with my pen.

I remembered the day Mum told me marriage was a duty.

"You don't love hte people you marry," she said with a sigh. "Not when you're royalty like us. Marriage isn't for pleasure, dear. It's a duty and a responsibility. Enjoy it, but do not expect much." She sighed and glanced at my father, staring at the bum of one of the more attractive maids.

Naturally, that was a lot for an eight year-old to absorb. Having been raised on happily-ever-after stories, this just didn't seem like _my_ happily ever after.

"Draco–" I began.

"Hermione, is your mum a witch?" Draco cut me off.

"What?" I was confused. "No..."

"Your father?"

"Er, no. I..."

"Are _you_ a witch?"

There was a clap of thunder, and the rain began to poor down onto the palace. I could see the rain hitting the windows. How odd. This wasn't the month of storms.

"Um, I haven't got the foggiest idea, really."

"So you're not?"

"Er, no... I don't believe so," I mumbled. I raised the feather of the quill to my face and brushed it against my nose.

Draco grinned. He pushed his blonde locks out of his face, and sweeping into a bow, left.

A month or so later, I was wandering around the castle late at night, heading down to the kitchens to pay the house elves a visit. I was craving their delicious pudding.

As I rounded the corner, I saw Lucius Malfoy head down the corner leading to the Northern Tower, and my maid, Emmeline Vance, disappear into the shadows. As I headed down the stairs, I suddenly heard strange words and saw a flash of green light. I heard footsteps and quickly dove behind a statue.

The next morning, Emmeline was discovered dead, and it never occurred to me toe Mr. Malfoy was the culprit.

What had baffled me about her murder, though, was that there was no sign of what had done her in.

About a year or so later, Emmeline's murder was still unsolved, and she had been replaced by a girl near my age named Hannah Abbott. Her mother worked down in the gardens under Missus Sprout, who ran the greenhouses. While her mother worked down in the gardens, Hannah cleaned. I liked Hannah, but Emmeline had been much better, or, more interesting. She was always telling me interesting stories. Hannah, on the other hand, would walk into the room and stare at her feet, muttering to herself. But she always got the job done quickly, so I didn't mind.

That same year, I had wandered off into the garden, where I came across our new garden boy, who worked under Missus Sprout and Miss Abbott.

He was tall and gangly, with messy black hair and brilliant green eyes, and a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. His name was Harry, and I took an instant liking to him.

That day, I approached him in the garden.

"Hello," I said, as he tended to a thorny bush.

He looked up, wiping the sweat from his head.

"Hello," he said, staring up at me.

"I'm Hermione," I said, hoping he wouldn't start 'your highness'ing me or beginning with the whole 'I'm not worthy' thing.

He didn't.

"Oh, Harry," he said, sticking out a dirt-covered hand. I shook it.

"So, you're the new garden boy?"

He nodded.

"Do you like it here?" I asked.

He bit his lip. "Er... it's nice. But it gets a little, well... boring. I'd rather be outside the walls, if you know what I mean."

I grinned. From then on, Harry was my best friend.

It was also that year that both Harry and I discovered our ability to do magic. We'd been running away from the guards, for Harry was not supposed to be in the certain area of the castle that we were in, and suddenly, one of the guards pants fell down, and the other one slipped on a banana peel that had appeared out of nowhere. While we were laughing, it came to me that I had _wished_ for the banana peel, and when I told this to Harry, he admitted to wishing their pants would fall down. It then occurred to me, remembering Draco's words, that maybe, just maybe, we were capable of doing magic.

We kept it quiet, secretly studying the magic books in the library. But one day, we were caught levitating one of the books by my caretaker, Minerva McGonagall.

Instead of yelling at us, she looked... elated. She secretly taught us, giving us lessons in her cottage at the edge of the palace grounds.

One day, as Harry and I walked down to our lessons, we discovered a strange man in Minerva's home. His name was Mr. Ollivander, and he got rid of our makeshift wands and gave us real ones.

He looked hesitant when giving Harry his wand, as well as worried. His eyes twitched, and I got a sudden feeling that maybe something wasn't quite right.

As he was leaving. Professor McGonagall (as she had asked us to call her), pulled him over. "Your lips are sealed, Ollivander," she said in a hushed voice.

He nodded and quickly departed.

Our lessons continued, and everything went well as Harry and I advanced in our lessons. We learned a lot from Minerva, there was no doubt.

When I was thirteen, I could tell things were changing.

My magic lessons were less often, castle defense had tripled, and my parents always looked worried, even my father.

Harry was absent for days at a time, returning and saying he had never left, but had simply been busy.

My freedoms were more limited, and worried muttering traveled across the palace grounds.

ON a warm May evening, I headed down the hill to professors McGonagall's cottage, uninvited.

I knocked, and the bolts of the door slid open, and I caught someone saying, "Why, Minerva, I didn't know someone else was invited to this little meeting of ours." To which I heard Professor McGonagall say, "There wasn't."

I stepped in and saw a somewhat odd sight. Professor McGonagall was sitting at her table with an elderly, wise looking man and a young woman.

"Princess Hermione!" she squawked.

The lady stood up, and it was then that I noticed the shock of pink hair cut like a boy's on top of her head. "Must be going," she said. "Thank-you for the tea."

"Ah, alright, Nymphadora. I hope to see you soon," Professor McGonagall said with a forced smile.

"Tonks, please call me Tonks," Tonks said with a sigh, as if she had been through this hundreds of times before. "And hopefully not."

Quickly, she dispappeared outside in a flurry of robes.

I then realized that she was a witch.

"And you, Albus?"

The elderly man smiled, adjusting his half-moon spectacles.

"Until next time," he said, sweeping into a low bow, so that his long, white beard touched the ground. He too left quickly, disappearing on the spot.

McGonagall quickly bolted the door. "Princess, why are you here?"

I stood up straight. "I want to know what's been going on. Things are happening, and no one's told me a thing. I'm not a little girl anymore, ma'am. I have a right to know what's happening in _my_ kingdom."

She bit her lip. "Dark ages, Hermione. Dark ages are coming." I noticed suddenly how much my mentor seemed to have aged in the past year.

I blinked. "Like what? What dark ages are coming?" I needed to know. I'd always had a problem with needing to know everything. I had a thirst for knowledge.

"You are... too young."

I was angered by that. To say I was too young... it was unfair. In just four years, I would be of age and getting ready to accept the throne. How was I supposed to reign as Queen if no one would tell me anything?

"Please tell me," I pleaded.

McGonagall shook her head. "In time."

Months later, when I was almost fourteen, I again traveled down to the cottage, and found Professor McGonagall packing quickly. Objects were flying madly across the room, and I had to duck several times to reach her.

"I must go," she whispered to me.

"_What_?" I cried. Her? Leave? She had been a constant in my life, someone I could always depend on being there, since I could no longer even depend on Harry to be there. "Why?"

She looked doubtful to tell me.

"Knowledge is dangerous. Occlumency... I should have taught you occlumency... Guard your mind, Hermione, and guard this information."

Quickly, she wove the stoyr of Lord Voldemort, a rogue wizard who had legions of followers called Death Eaters. They wished to control all the land and make pureblood rulers. She could not go into much depth, for it was time for her to depart soon.

"Hermione," she whispered, "be careful. Believe your hunches. Follow your heart. Trust no one but _yourself_." She poked me squarely in the chest when she said this.

Her words rang in my ears as she left, leaving me more confused than ever.

That same night, I dashed down to the servant homes and found Harry. I told him of McGonagall's departure.

He shook his head.

"She just... left?"

"Yes," I mumbled, my eyes tearing up.

"But what about our lessons?"

Quietly, I handed him a thick book that had been left in the middle of the cottage, where the table used to be.

"Spells..." Harry mumbled, thumbing through the book. "We have to keep learning. For Professor McGonagall's sake. She wouldn't have just _left_ it there if she hadn't wanted us to learn from it, right?"

I nodded. Slowly, through sobs, I told him of the Death Eaters, and how I suspected they were the reason for our teacher's departure.

"Be careful, Hermione."

I was careful. All the way until I was fifteen. But things started to change. And not in small ways. These ways were matters of life or death, and I knew that being safe would not longer be an option.

**A/N: Well? Do you like it? I, personally, am seriously proud of this. I dunno. I just... **_**like**_** it. Genuinely. Probably the favorite thing I've written in a really, really long time. So, reviews, reviews, reviews! Criticism, whatever. Just not flames, thank-you very much.**


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